Personal Narrative: The Angler's Guide

In this Country Life 1904 article the friend who “bagged 110 lbs” is likely Mr. Battelle from the Toledo Post 1885 article above:

M askinonge in Blackstone and Crane Lakes average from 14 lbs to 35 lbs. A good angler of my acquaintance bagged 110 lbs of maskinonge during one day, the heavy weight of the fish caught bringing up this large total. One hour is often spent in fighting these fierce fish, and even a 14- pounder will make things exciting for 45 min. No fish in the world can give more sport to the first- class angler than the maskinonge.

The Angler 's Guide, 1911:

For the enthusiastic angler, who is desirous of leaving the beaten path of the well-known districts for the unbroken forest and the blazed trail, there is that ideal district

Lawrence and the streams and lakes emptying into the Georgian Bay. I have taken them in all these waters except the St. Lawrence, but a three and one-half-foot one is the largest I have ever caught. Each year on starting out I expect to catch a fifty-pound record-breaker, and on coming home I am glad that I did not. That pleasure is still reserved for me.

This year five of us, Robert Hawley and Dr Season, of Cleveland; R. A. LeBlond and John Deasy of Cincinnati, and myself, fished Blackstone and Simms lakes, both lying a little way inland from the Georgian Bay and both well stocked with bass and mascalonge. In a week 's fishing, besides the bass, we took about thirty mascalonge, Dr. Season landing the largest one, which weighted near twenty pounds.

“The Georgian Bay and its tributary lakes and streams are amongst the beauty spots of the continent. The lakes are mostly forest bound with shores of granite rock and studded with emerald crowned little isles. Even when one catches fish - and every angler knows there are such days in the best of waters to troll the shores slowly and thread the channels is a constant delight. Every moment unfolds and brings to view a new dream of

Hawley and I had been fishing Blackstone Lake for several days, when one afternoon the guide told us of Portage Lake, a small body of water something like a mile away not very easy of access, and on the account little fished. That evening we had a boat portaged across, and early the next morning we were on the bosom of the little lake. We found it deep set in the granite hills spring fed and cold and clear as a mountain brook. Over clear bottom could easily see down twenty feet. We trolled around the lake a couple of times getting an occasional bass and wall- eyed pike, but not a lunge. The day was so bright and still I despaired of hooking one. So laying aside the heavy tackle, I put on a tiny copper trout spoon and began to cast in towards the shore for bass. They were dour and would not rise. I fished the likely spots for half an hour and then dropped back in the rear seat to rest. The little spoon trailed out some eighteen feet behind the boat. Smash! I had a strike that roused me like a